


I am One

by Actias



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Death, Denial, Gen, Grieving, Love, but brotherly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9329339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actias/pseuds/Actias
Summary: It happened. He didn't think it would. Now what?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tried this out, hope you enjoy.

A text from Anthea woke him up. He read it out then plopped his phone onto his chest. Slowly, he turned towards the back of the couch he was sleeping on and tried to tuck himself deeper into its corner. He stayed there until Mrs Hudson clambered up the stairs with a tea tray.  
"Sherlock," she scolded. "You shouldn't be sleeping on the couch like that. You've got a proper bed for a reason."  
He didn't answer.  
"Sherlock?"  
She peeked over his body and Sherlock curled himself tighter.  
"I know you're awake you know."  
She walked back to the tea tray and poured him at cuppa.  
"Going to bed at ridiculous hours like that. It's unhealthy. You should try a schedule."  
She waited for him to turn over and acknowledge her presence but without positive results, she sighed and laid the cup back down.  
"I'll be downstairs if you need me."  
Mrs Hudson left, leaving Sherlock alone. Well, almost. He waited. Tears welled up in his eyes without his approval and he gritted his teeth in frustration.  
"Leave," he said. It came out muffled into the couch.  
"You know I can't do that for you," Mycroft's voice rang clear from across the room.  
"Go away," Sherlock gritted through his teeth.

Silence.

Sherlock turned his face towards his chair which his brother was sitting on and shouted, "GO AWAY."  
Tears were now streaming down his face. He grabbed John's gun which was lying on the table and shot his brother.

He blinked.

All that was left was an empty chair with a hole in it.  
Footsteps came crashing down from one floor up. John rushed into the room, still in his pyjamas. Sherlock threw the gun across the room and turned his body back towards the corner of the couch, wiping tears as he did.  
"What are you doing?" John asked.  
Sherlock turned back, his usual scraggly face fixating him. "Bored."  
"Bored? At this hour?"  
The detective slumped back down.  
"Well, you know me."  
" _For God's sake!_ We have a case! You **can't** be bored!" The doctor walked into the room and looked around. "Your chair? Why did you shoot your chair this time?"  
"Bored."  
John grumbled in frustration.  
"I'm going back to bed. Try and be decent, yeah?"  
He left Sherlock alone.  
"Well, you've most certainly ruined his morning." Mycroft was back.  
"He should be used to it by now."  
"Doesn't mean he enjoys it."  
"I thought I told you to go away."  
The detective turned to face the room. His brother was propped up against the mantle, looking through whatever items were laid there.  
"John's right you know."  
"What."  
"You do have a case. And look at this appalling amount of letters you have gracefully stabbed here. If it was me, I would have solved all of them by now."  
"I said go away," Sherlock's voice was shaky.  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow.  
"You summoned me here. I didn't come of my own volition." He toyed with the skull. " _No rest for the dead_ ," he mused.  
"Go away," Sherlock's voice came out as a whimper this time.  
Mycroft was suddenly right in front of his face.  
"Sentiment, brother mine, you have to control it."

o.O.o

Anthea texted him a second time. Sherlock never went to the funeral.  
He tried visiting Mycroft's grave once but when he got within sight of it, he recognised his brother sitting on top of the stone, waiting for him.  
Sherlock never tried again.

o.O.o

"I haven't heard from Mycroft in about two months. Pretty long for his standards. Have you talked to him?"  
Baker street. With John. And Mycroft looking at him from the side.  
"Yes."  
"What did he say?"  
"That death is the only certainty that a human being can rely on."  
"And what's that supposed to mean?"  
"That I'm an idiot."  
John looked at him puzzled. Mycroft raised both eyebrows in exasperation. Sherlock stared straight ahead.

o.O.o

" _Sherlock_ , it's been five months now."  
"Why do you still have that umbrella?"  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Because you think it's funny that I can never manage to separate myself from it."  
"Oh."  
"Sherlock..." impatience dripped from his brother's voice.  
"What exactly am I suppose to do."  
"How am I suppose to know? I'm in your head. If you can't figure it out then neither can I."  
"You're rubbish."  
"You've just insulted yourself." Mycroft mockingly stared at him.

o.O.o

John ran up the stairs, a puzzled look on his face.  
"I walked past the graveyard today. You know, the one where they buried you when we thought you were dead. I wanted to check if they had taken yours away since you're not actually dead. And..."  
John stopped, not quite sure how to put it into words. "Your brother has a grave. Said he died this year. Do you want to explain to me what happened? Is he gone indefinitely on vacation or something?"  
Sherlock looked slowly up at his friend. He tried finding words to explain but words were hard and Mycroft was looking at him expectantly from behind John.  
"He's dead."  
John stopped for two seconds. "Yeah but, you've said that and you actually weren't so..."  
"No. It's not faked." The detective took a deep breath. "He's actually dead."  
His friend was silent, not really sure if he should believe anything. Sherlock scratched his ear.  
"You can dig him up if you want. Probably buried with his umbrella or something."  
Mycroft scowled.  
The silence stretched.  
"So," John looked up at his friend. "Mycroft, is, actually, _dead_."

Silence.

An expectant glare from his older brother.  
"Yes." Sherlock choked on the word and swallowed hard.  
Mycroft smiled. The first genuine smile Sherlock had seen in years.  
"That wasn't too hard, was it?" he whispered kindly.

o.O.o

That night. Sherlock's room.  
"This'll be the last night you see me."  
Sherlock rolled over in bed. "Don't be so sure."  
Mycroft sat down on its edge.  
"You'll be fine without me you know."  
"Will I?"  
"Of course. You've got John and Mrs Hudson and Molly and Lestrade and Mummy and Daddy. You have all the people you'll ever need."  
"I'm missing you." Sherlock looked at his brother but Mycroft kept looking forward, avoiding his gaze.  
"They all love you. No matter how much havoc you've caused, deep down they've always loved you."  
"I'm missing _you_."  
Mycroft didn't even twitch.  
"You'll live a full life. Well, as long as you don't get yourself killed of course, which I have tried to make sure to prevent."  
Sherlock added impatience to his tone.  
"You haven't answered me."  
Mycroft finally looked him in the eyes.  
"You know the answer."  
They starred each other down.  
"You've given up on saying it out loud a long time ago. Why can't I hear you say it once."  
"Why?"  
"You know why."  
" _Why?_ "  
Sherlock lowered his voice.  
"Because I need to know you're human."  
Mycroft looked amused.  
"I've died, isn't that proof enough?"  
"No."  
Mycroft shifted on the bed. He leaned down over his brother like he used to do when they were kids and whispered in his ear, "I'll always be there for you. Always." Sherlock closed his eyes. An aching pain formed in his chest. This was it, he knew. This was goodbye.  
His brother's voice echoed in his ear. _"I love you Sherlock. And I'll miss you even if all I am is a spirit on the wind."_


End file.
